Editors Note
Creating a digital publication from scratch has definitely had itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s trials. The
endless revisions, the sleepless nights and of course the hundreds of
emails, Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m finally done! Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m delighted to present the very first issue.
Welcome to Wildland.
This has taken me on a huge journey. Falling in love with places all around
the world, meeting photographers and artists alike with the same passion.
The aim of Wildland is to explore the natural connection we have with the
wild. This can be anything from landscapes, forests and national parks,
also camping in the rockys or even fishing, all of these things keep us
connected with the wildland.
Our contributors and artists have really come together to give us their
interpretation and I think they have done a fabulous job! I need to say a
huge thanks to all of the artists and contributors for their enthusiasm,
patience and of-course their awesome images. I would also like to thank the
people following, liking, re-posting and supporting my blog. You guys are
brilliant!
I really hope you enjoy this as much as I have creating it and I hope this will
inspire you to grab your camera, wherever that may be and go and shoot,
create, capture and freeze that moment.
Enjoy!

There is a seasonal lucidity adrift in
the coastal islands of the Western
Scottish highlands that often gets
overlooked. Sometime around late
Autumn the colours begin to change
up there. They donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t drain, as would
the colours from hedgerows of the
southern counties, or the stretching
fields of Suffolk farmland, but they
deepen and fix. By winter you can
be sure of a distinct pallet, infallible
in its reoccurrence each year. The
birch trees that line the roadside and
woodland glades redden like bracken,
exposed and brittle. Summer greens
of the bog grass and hillside tussocks
alike burn a deep yellow, shimmering
white at the tips in the low, cold
sunshine. Mountain stone shale adds
tones of grey and purple, and dotted
along the slopes are pockets of deep,
dark green; stands of coniferous
plantation where all but the larch
hold firm their damp leaves. The sea
beyond, the ever present anchor in the
landscape, is a deep grey hue, sending
across gale force winds and horizontal
rain. When itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s almost too cold and
when even the enormous highland
cattle, with their heavy orange coats
and fiercely protective armory, turn
from the wind and shelter by aging
stone walls; this, for me, is the time
to see it. Thereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s no British terrain as
wide, open and dramatic as this in
winter; loomed over by a quiet and
attractive desolation.

When I first found myself in one of
these places, eyes out to the coastline,
hands biting in the bitter wind, it was
for a job interview. I had travelled alone
on the sleeper train from London
Euston, waking around 6am to a snowy
and feral world outside my cabin
window, as the track wound through
steep hillsides and dark, expansive
lakes to Fort William. The post was
for Head Gardener at Glenborrodale
castle; charged with re-designing and
developing the vast adjoining grounds
set within the Ardnumurchan estate
peninsular; the most Westerly point
of mainland Britain. The interview
process took place in early March,
giving me my first experience of
the west coast still in the throws of
winter, and although the job was not
for me, the landscape at that time of
year left a lasting print in my mind. It
exuded a captivating silence within its
sparseness; forming a kind of stripped
and foundational backdrop in which
creativity could be explored. And this
is the reason Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve been coming back to
the Highlands and Islands so regularly
since.

Some friends and I visited the Isle
of Mull last winter, one of the larger
Islands off the west coast, home to
eagles and adders, the famous Iona
crossing and Tobermory whiskey.
Making the most of the â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;deadâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; season
in the tourism calendar, we rented
cheaply a small farm cottage on the
east side of the island, taking cameras
and sound equipment, heavy coats
and boots, cheese and wine. We made
trips up into the hills above the house,
peered through dishevelled barns and
jumped fences into long-neglected
and overgrown forestry.

Deep in the Bavarian Woods, the cool
waters of a half-forgotten pond are
waiting to refresh weary hikers. Its
origins can be traced back to the 1950s,
when a minor landslide blocked the
spoil dump of a now derelict coal mine.
From 1968, that depression has
been used as a garbage dump. But
September 28th , 1984 the dam
threatened to break and thus release
highly poisonous leakage water into the
environment and surrounding waters.
Only the dedicated efforts of local
fire fighters could stop the imminent
catastrophe.
The following modernisation allowed
the garbage dump to continue
operating until 2005, when new laws
forced its abandonment, thus opening
the way to creating this beautiful cool
pool beneath the trees: â&#x20AC;&#x153;The Loidlseeâ&#x20AC;?

“I really only write about inner
landscapes and most people don’t see
them, because they see practically
nothing within, because they think
that because it’s inside, it’s dark, and
so they don’t see anything. I don’t
think I’ve ever yet, in any of my books,
described a landscape. There’s really
nothing of the kind in any of them. I
only ever write concepts. And so I’m
always referring to “mountains” or “a
city” or “streets.” But as to how they
look: I’ve never produced a description
of a landscape. That’s never even
interested me.”
Thomas Bernhard from “Monologe auf
Mallorca” Interview - 1981

After a long hectic period of
commercial photography I decided to
have a breakaway from my apartment
in London, fashion, models and
stylists. I spent my summer travelling
throughout Central and Eastern
Europe with my brother, Max. The
freedom this gave us inspired me
to work on a few projects that had
been sitting in the back of my mind,
this escape being one of them. My
brother is leaving for an indefinite
period of time, first to Asia and then on
to Australia. We wanted one last trip
together and planned to get out for a
long weekend in the wild.
I hope you find what youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re looking for
and have a rad time Max.

These photographs were taken in the
South-West of Iceland in Hvalfjörður.
The idea was to photograph the
transition from Autumn to Winter
where the colours start to fade and the
crossover begins.
You can see the Snow is starting
to creep down the mountains, it’s
incredible.
I’ve been documenting this using a
long lens in 1x1 format.

81

82

83

84

We would like to thank everyone who has taken interest, shown support and submitted
photos to Wildland Magazine.
We are excited to be starting work on the next issue as you are reading this.
Submit your photographs/stories and artwork to submission@wildlandmag.co.uk
#wildlandmag